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18h • ✨ Poetry 🪄🌙 ✨
Anthropophobia
A tremor begins
in the quiet corners of my chest
a hum, then a roar
a perpetual state of being on the edge
of something I cannot name
but feel in the marrow of my bones.
I am sacred of everything.
Not the grand, the dramatic, the obvious
but the mundane, the breath I take in,
the silence that follows a spoken word,
the space between my hand and the air it inhabits.
Why this constant unease?
This tightrope walk across an unseen chasm
where every step feels precarious.
To stand, to assert, to claim my space
feels like a monumental effort,
a battle I am already losing before I even begin.
The words catch in my throat,
unformed, unheard,
a flock of startled birds
refusing to take flight.
Love, a concept whispered in hushed tones
by others,
feels like a territory too wild to explore,
too dangerous to inhabit.
To prove, what even is that?
A desperate reaching for validation,
a constant performance for an audience
I can only imagine,
their faces blurred, their judgments sharp.
And the crowd grows.
Each passing face a potential interrogator,
a silent accuser.
I do not know why.
Am I too much?
A vibrant, chaotic storm
that threatens to overwhelm?
Or am I not enough?
A pale shadow, a flickering candle
easily extinguished by a careless breath.
The question itself a torment,
a mirror reflecting only doubt.
Every person, a landscape of potential threat.
Will they vanish like mist,
leaving me adrift?
Will they lash out,
their words or their hands,
leaving scars I cannot see?
Will they dismiss me,
their casual decree that I am incapable,
unworthy of even trying?
And their thoughts.
Oh, their thoughts.
A phantom chorus in my mind,
mocking, dissecting,
rehearsing my every perceived flaw.
Is this merely hesitation?
A gentle pause before action?
Or a paralysis,
a deep rooted fear of the human gaze,
of the very essence of being seen.
Anthropophobia, they might call it.
A word for a feeling
that has become the very air I breathe.
A quiet, constant hum
of not wanting to be.
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Anthropophobia
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